


Everything You Need Is Here

by vanishing_time



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-29 19:36:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6390469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanishing_time/pseuds/vanishing_time
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House is dreaming.</p><p>Written for the Positively House/Wilson challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything You Need Is Here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackmare_9 (blackmare)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackmare/gifts), [yarroway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yarroway/gifts).



> So I saw the Positively House/Wilson challenge... and this is my first attempt at writing fluff. Seriously. Never done this before. I think I might have overdosed the sugar.

_ House is dreaming. _

 

“Your fingernails are purple.” 

Wilson has his hands in his hands, and he’s busy blowing hot puffs of breath on them. “I told you to bring gloves!”

“Would you tone down your Mom Friend mode for a second? I'm a big boy! And it's the middle of July!”

Wilson rubs his ice cold fingers between his palms, like a clumsy caveman trying to light fire with a stick and a pack of dry leaves, his brows furrowed with concentration.

“Yes, but in case you haven’t realized, we’re over eight thousand feet high, way above the snow line.”

“Okay, Sherlock,” House mocks him, but then lets it go, looking around instead to watch the clouds floating around them, up high on the peak where they're sitting. 

The mountains are sharp and relentless with their lacy ridges, grey patches of snow here and there, dotted with dust and pebbles. The sound of tiny waterfalls is faint in the distance, and the scent of pine trees doesn’t reach this high. 

Suddenly, he realizes how small and insignificant he is.

But Wilson’s palms feel really… right and comforting around his hands, and the dampness of Wilson’s breath does him good, he has to admit this. His friend’s cheeks and nose are red and wind-bitten, his bangs are ruffled beneath his stupid grey hat that’s pulled onto his ears, and he's sniffing as he's trying to warm up House’s fingers. The sight is oddly endearing, and House almost feels some affection. Almost.

His hands have melted out a little, but Wilson doesn’t seem to be in a hurry of letting them go, and House is fine with it. They stay like this for a while, sitting on a rock in their own little world, watching the Earth from up here, the light dancing over the sky.

But soon it’s time to go, and now House is the one who wraps his fingers around Wilson’s, pulling him to his feet. Wilson falters a little with the vehemence of the motion, pressing against House’s body for a second, and House embraces him. Just a little. 

Wilson’s eyes are huge and dark and glistening from the wind.

“Come,” House says after a few seconds of losing himself in those eyes. ”There are a lot of peaks to climb.”

 

*****

 

_ House is dreaming. _

 

The landscape unfolding in front of his eyes is beautiful. Tiny window lights dotting the silhouette of the skyscrapers, and the rectangle of the Central Park is gleaming in the orange light of the evening. It’s summer, it’s always summer in his dreams, and the wind tearing his hair is warm like Wilson's body, pressed against his side.

House looks at him, and Wilson looks back, and they smile, without saying a word. Words are unnecessary between them anyway. The light of the sunset reflects in Wilson irises, making his eyes shine like gold, highlighting the sharp peak of his Adam's apple, his jaw, painting stripes of molten yellow into his hair.

If House liked clichés, he’d say he finds him beautiful.

All of this is almost too good.  _ How ‘bout ruining the moment? _

A long creaking sound cut off with a loud pop, and Wilson looks up, surprised.

“How did you manage to sneak in a…  _ bottle of wine _ ?”

House takes a huge gulp. 

“Don’t force the magician to reveal all his tricks. It spoils the essence.”

Then he burps. Loudly. 

Its echo is slowly fading into a second of stunned silence before--

A huge, sharp poke of an elbow, right between House’s ribs.

“You’re such a romantic!” Wilson exclaims.

“Ow! Easy now, cripple here!”

“A crippled ass!”

Wilson rolls his eyes, but he’s already smiling, not even pretending to look disgusted. 

House feels his mouth curl into a wicked grin.

“Yeah, but I’m your crippled ass.”

“Actually, I have my own ass. But it’s good to have two asses.” Wilson’s eyebrows furrow at his own poor comeback, but then he makes an  _ oh, well  _ face. “Er… whatever.”

House laughs, taking another sip before he suddenly leans against Wilson, pressing his lips to his, pouring the gulp of wine into his mouth. Wilson makes a soft, surprised “hmmpf” noise, and his arms encircle House’s waist as he drinks from his lover’s lips.

Everything is fine.

 

*****

 

_ House is dreaming. _

 

They are on an ocean shore, bathing in the light of yet another sunset. He’s not really fond of sunsets, so he briefly wonders why he’s dreaming about them again. But then, as dreams tend to swirl, he quickly forgets that he’s not in reality.

“You know how long it is since I’ve been to a seashore? Ages! Damn ages!”

Wilson has a cocktail in his hand, and he’s munching the decoration of pineapple slices and sweetened cherries. The rhythm of some salsa is playing from the nearest bar, but they’re far enough from curious gazes and loud, drunken chattering. House still doesn’t like people. 

Except this guy. His favourite human.

Wilson is dancing around to the music in the sand, not too elegantly, doing some stupid macarena with one hand, laughing like a kid, and House can't help but marvel at him. Wilson can be so childish now that he has finally learned to let himself go, and it’s so much better than all the bitterness and worrying and pain he had to endure.

His dork. His stupid love.

“It should be illegal to be this cute,” House murmurs, rather to himself than to Wilson; but Wilson hears it anyway and stops his dance to stand before him, panting, hands on his hips. 

“I’m not cute, House. I’m manly as fuck!” he says in a deepened voice, trying to look stern, but the laugh lines around his eyes betray him. He’s flexing his shoulders to make them look broader, grabbing House’s head and pulling it back gently, making him look into his eyes. “Feel all the testosterone!”

“My, doctor Wilson, I didn’t know you know any naughty words!” House grins at him before pulling Wilson even closer by his butt, pressing his face to his stomach. He tastes of salt and sweat and sand. “My badass babe,” House’s voice is muffled against his skin, and Wilson’s laughter fades into the sound of the waves as he tenderly runs his fingers through House’s hair.

 

*****

 

House is awake.

 

The city below him seems strangely cold and beautiful from here, thirty-five stories high. Cold lights on this cloudless night, snow covering the fragile spiderweb of avenues and streets. The shining of the full moon is alien and unforgiving as it paints everything in whitish blue.

Such a long time has passed. He’s dreamt of a painless life so many times, and too many times he was denied by awakening.

Does he even deserve to be happy? 

Boy, does he get sentimental during winter.

A quiet whimper comes from the depth of the room, interrupting his thoughts, and he looks up.

The blanket has slipped off Wilson’s shoulders, revealing his muscles, his soft flesh, the rest of the material gently hugging the arch of his waist. One tentative, unsure hand is tapping the sheets on House’s half of the bed, searching for him even in his sleep. His skin is glowing pale in the reflected light of the metropolis, and House has to suppress a snicker at the thought that he looks just like an elf from Middle-Earth. 

Yeah. An elf with huge eyebrows and five o’clock shadow and rumpled hair. 

He crawls back into their bed and lets Wilson’s arm encircle him, his heat warm him up. It’s been getting cold by the window, sitting there alone. Wilson happily purrs something unintelligible, nestling closer to him before slipping back to sleep, and House twines their fingers, his ring clicking softly against the one Wilson wears. He closes his eyes, buries his face in Wilson’s hair, holding him a little tighter. Let the outer world fade away for now. 

And as he inhales the scent of his beloved, he thinks that even if he doesn’t deserve it, he’s so goddamn lucky after all.


End file.
